


The Blacksmith

by tisfan



Series: Tony Stark Bingo [24]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Civil War, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 03:38:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17717330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Tony Stark Bingo - K1 HistoricalDuring the Civil War (Shield Vs. Hydra) the common people find trouble no matter who the soldiers are.





	The Blacksmith

**Author's Note:**

> So, very delicately, this is an AU of the Civil War (not the one in the MCU, but the actual anti-slavery, north vs south, American Civil War.
> 
> During the war, these things happened, soldiers from either side frequently robbed and abused the common people, either because they were owed it (North taking stuff that belonged to northerners, etc) or they were the enemy (south taking things from northerners) or they were deserters and taking stuff because they were already wanted men. 
> 
> In any case, the non-combatants have a lot of terrible stories, and a lot of times, were never happy to see soldiers at all.
> 
> So, this is loosely based on some of that history. 
> 
> I have a lot of weird backstory to this, and how the Hydra troops coming up the lawn actually have Bucky in their midst, and a TON of other story around it, but I wanted to try to keep this short. I may expand it later.
> 
> It's also sort of loosely based on Tony Stark's backstory for the 1872 series (which is really great if you've never read it, I highly recommend.)

****Pietro dashed down the long drive toward the farm house, waving his arms frantically.

Wanda saw him from the corner of her eye as she hung up the wash. The wind kept flapping the towels and sheets at her, and she was struggling to get the wet stuff hung up. No choice, they needed the cleaning done.

“What is it?”

“Soldiers, soldiers comin’,” Pietro gasped as he staggered to a halt, resting his hands on his knees.

“Hydra or Shield?”

“Does it matter? They’re soldiers, they’re gonna be hungry.”

That much was true. Their farm was good sized, but they were at risk of not having enough food for the winter. Every time soldiers came by, no matter what color they wore or what flag they gave the nod to, they picked over the food and supplies. Hydra because they believed that any they conquered were their rightful prey, and Shield, because Shield believed that, as the defenders, the civilians owed them.

The pretty words didn’t matter much at all; the results were the same. Soldiers came and they took what they wanted. If they were very lucky, they could keep Steve from getting involved. He’d come home from the war, barely alive with a lung infection that was bound to kill him sooner or later, but he kept trying to fight, to defend their home.

“Still, if it’s Hydra, Steve’ll want to fight them, no matter what,” Wanda said. “You think we can convince him t’ go and visit Peggy, before they get here, keep him--”

“No,” Peitro said. “They’re too close, he’ll cross them on the way, even if we could get him horseback that fast. He’ll know.”

“They’re Hydra,” Wanda said. She and her twin brother had been born in Hydra territory, not understanding what the war was about.

When a wounded Shield soldier, Clint Barton, had defended them against pillagers, they’d gone with him. Their home was destroyed, but they were alive. Clint brought them north, and there they’d stayed, trying to make up for any wrongs they’d done.

“Quick, get the pigs--” Pietro said. “Some chickens, and the goat.”

“And do what with them?”

“Take ‘em over to the smithy,” Pietro said. “There hasn’t been a blacksmith here in months, even Hydra should know that. Maybe they won’t look, and we’ll have the animals for the winter.”

“And what are you going to do while I’m playing pigherd?”

“Take Lucky with you,” Pietro said. “I’m gonna take as much of the food out to the woods and hang it up. Tell Steve what’s going on.”

“Good luck.”

“Hurry, before they get in sight!”

***

Wanda managed to hitch the goat up to the small cart, caged half the chickens and all the fresh-hatched chicks, and two of the pigs bringing up the rear. The rest of the pigs would go to feed the Hydra troops and maybe they wouldn’t look for more. It had been a hard year, all the men away to war. No one expected much anymore. The war was destroying the country. Soon there wouldn’t be enough people left in it to fight over who was right and who was wrong. Who were real people, and who were property.

The cart was slow going, since she wasn’t taking the road, practically leading the nanny goat over tree roots and through brambles. By the time the smithy was in sight, all overgrown with weeds, the forge long-cold, she was cut and scraped from underbrush, thirsty and terrified.

Wanda about cried at the sight of the smithy, staggered toward it, dragging the goat and cart. The smith had needed water to quench the metal he worked, surely there was a well. Wanda tied the cart to the hitching post. Water first, then she’d see about getting the pigs penned in.

She opened the door to the smithy, a wide open building with lots of arcane tools-- “cup, cup, he must have--”

“You come to drink with me?”

Wanda shrieked, fell over backward, hitting a row of farm tools and knocking them to the ground with a terrible clatter. “Who are you?”

“You know who I am. The blacksmith,” the man said, getting to his feet. He swayed back and forth, someone who’d had a little too much wine. “This is my house. I think the question is; who are you?”

“I’m uh--” Wanda squeaked, and then one of the pigs practically mauled her, wandering inside to see what was going on. It was chewing on the end of its lead rope casually, like a man with a cigar.

“Well, Uh, that’s a big pig you got there,” the blacksmith said.

“Yes, I mean, yes sir, I mean. My name’s Wanda. I’m-- I live right--” She pointed back toward the house.

“I thought that was Captain Roger’s place,” the blacksmith said, taking a swig out of a little flask. “Want a drink?”

“I shouldn’t,” Wanda said.

“Neither should anyone. Alcohol is the very devil’s brew. Never stopped me,” the blacksmith said, offering her the flask.

Wanda took it, sniffed at it delicately. She’d never actually had anything stronger than a little watered down ratifa wine. This did not smell watered down, and there was the possibility that the smith’s mouth wasn’t entirely clean. Rather be hanged for the chicken then the egg, Wanda decided, tilted her head back and poured some of the liquor into her mouth. It burned, but almost pleasantly, like a warm bath for her tongue.

When she swallowed, all the air seemed to get drawn out of her lungs, and she coughed a few times, her eyes watering. The blacksmith didn’t laugh, or even smirk. “Go on, you keep that one, I have more.”

“What is it?” She took another sip, and this one warmed all the way down, to places that Wanda hadn’t even realized were cold.

“Brandy,” the blacksmith said. “You didn’t say why you’re living up to Roger’s place?”

“Oh, uh… we got. Adopted? I guess? My brother and I, we helped Mr. Barton when he was wounded, and he brought us up here after some deserters burned our home.”

“And the captain?”

“He’s recovering.”

“Recovering? Steve? From what? I would have thought it a cold day in hell before something could hurt that man.”

“He-- he got shot, infection settled into his lungs,” Wanda explained. She took another sip out of the flask. The brandy seemed to taste better the more she drank of it, and soon she was wrapping her hands around the flask. “What about you, sir? I didn’t know there was still a smith here.”

“There wasn’t,” Tony said. “Not until a few days ago. Not-- well, it doesn’t matter. I guess you could call me a deserter, too. But rather than burning other people’s homes and stealing food -- I assume you brought that big old porker with you to hide him -- I just took my toys and came home.”

“You’re a deserter?”

“Well, that’ll depend on the trial, if there is one,” Tony said. “After the war ends. If it does. I like to think of myself as a gentlemen, and after they violated their side of a gentlemen’s agreement, I was within my rights to leave them.” He dug through a bag and pulled out another flask. “Whiskey’s this one.” He tipped it up and probably drank half in a few long swallows.

“Is that all right?”

“The whiskey? It’s okay. I’ve had better.”

“No, if the pig-- two pigs, really, sir, and chickens, and our milking goat.”

“Enterprising little thing, aren’t you,” Tony commented. “Yeah, you can keep them here. Is it Hydra at the gate?”

“Yes, sir, my brother spotted them out to the highway.”

“Run on back home,” Tony said. “Get as many of the animals, and all your humans, bring them back here.”

“Here, sir?”

Tony nodded. “I’m a blacksmith,” he said. “Do you know what I smith?”

Wanda shook her head. “Farm tools and horseshoes?”

Tony shrugged. “Among other things. But mostly… guns. And warmachines. I brought my toys home. Get your family. I’ll protect them.”

“Just you, sir? Against a brigade?”

Tony whisked a blanket off-- something that looked like a metal man, all bristling weapons and shiny steel.

“Just me,” he said, opening up the armor. “Run, girl, go! Hydra doesn’t wait for visiting hours.”

Wanda handed Tony back his flask. “Yes, sir!”


End file.
